Chapter 20:

Guilty

The Bob-Whites felt happier than they had in days. With Jake Jones in jail, they thought their worries were over. They'd be able to return to the farm to finish the job they'd started, confident the Jones brothers would not be bothering them again.

"Gee Trix, it certainly was smart of you to tell Jake the stamp's hidden in my desk at the farm," Dan said, as his uncle Bill took the phone to call Miss Trask. "You sent him right into the Sheriff's hands."

Brian was proud of his younger sister. "It's a wonder Jake took the bait," he said. "Surely, he knew the farm would be under surveillance after everything that went down yesterday."

"Greed drives men to do foolish things," Mart added. "Too bad your admission was just a ruse," he told Trixie. "So the quest resumes?"

"But, the stamp is in the desk!" Trixie insisted, receiving dubious glances from her friends. "At least I'm ninety-nine percent sure it is. Only I can't prove it until we get back to the farm. Isn't Regan off the phone yet?"

"Cool it," Regan said, rounding out the group. "You're as bad as Miss Trask. She's chopping at the bit to get out of that hospital. Come on, let's get going. We've kept her waiting long enough."

The teenagers and the two older men hurried to the parking lot and climbed into their cars.

"Better late than never," Trixie told Honey, as Brian drove the Belden station Wagon out of the Park.

Honey shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to Brian's. "It almost was never," she replied with a shudder. "There for a while, I was sure we were goners, Trixie."

Brian took the curve in the road a bit too fast for Trixie's tastes, which sent her sliding across the backseat. "We may still be goners if Brian doesn't slow down," she grumbled. Looking over her brother's shoulder at the gauges on the dashboard, Trixie buckled up. "This road isn't designed for speeds above forty-five," she informed him. "And in case you haven't noticed, we're about out of gas."

Brian muttered a derogatory comment about Trixie's backseat-driving, but he did let off the accelerator. "I'm just trying to keep up with Regan and Jim," he told her irritably. "And for your information, Miss Know-it-all, we're supposed to be filling up at Smitty's on the way into town. I thought you were in some big rush, anyway?"

"If it takes us an extra five minutes, they'll wait for us," Trixie said. "I've had enough wild rides for one day."

Only as Belden's station wagon began to drop back from the others, they too slowed down to match its pace. Still, something about the drive put Trixie on edge, and it wasn't until they pulled off at the filling station that she really felt safe and sound.

Clambering out of the car, Brian told the girls to sit tight while he pumped the gasoline. Jim had gone into the shop to pay for their fill-ups, and in the meantime, Dan was checking the B.W.G. station wagon's oil level in the slip next to theirs.

"Hey Brian," he called out from under the hood. "When you get a sec, would you come over and explain what this thing does? It's got me stumped."

With his interest raised, Brian topped off the car's tank and then went to see what was perplexing his buddy. "What "thing" are you referring to?" he asked with a laugh.

Dan pointed to a neatly wrapped bundle of wires and plugs nestled to the right of the carburetor.

Brian had never seen the device before, and he'd worked on the car many times with Jim. "Don't touch it!" he warned Dan with a start. "Mart, get out of the car. Now!"

Obeying, the two boys followed Brian, as he rushed back to Belden's station wagon and popped the hood. Leaving it open, the oldest Belden ran to Regan's truck and repeated the action.

"What's wrong?" Tom wondered, as he hung the up the handle on the pump and screwed shut truck's gas cap.

Neither the truck nor the Belden's car contained Dan's mysterious part. "Come with me," Brian ordered Tom, returning to the Bob-White's station wagon. "Do you know what this is?" he asked the young chauffeur.

"No, but I have a pretty good hunch," Tom replied darkly. "And I think you do too. Do me a favor and round everyone up and move them to the vacant lot across the street. I'll run inside and have the attendant close up shop. Tell Trixie that I need the Sheriff's phone number. I'll call Miss Trask too."

Brian nodded and went to get the girls.


It took less than ten minutes for Sheriff Baker to respond to Tom's call. Not long after, the county's bomb squad arrived. Completing a thorough check of Regan's truck and the Belden's sedan, the team of specialists deemed them safe and moved them across the street. Next, they roped off the area surrounding Smitty's place and the Bob-White Station Wagon.

Joining the Bob-Whites at the back of the vacant lot, Sheriff Baker confirmed their worst suspicions. "Looks like you've got yourself a hefty sized bomb," he told Jim, after returning Regan and Brian's car keys. "Mike says it's pretty elaborate, too. Rigged to go off when the car reached a speed of 55 m.p.h."

Trixie thought Honey looked faint. And then the realization hit her. Jake said Jim would be going out with a bang. Now she knew what he meant.

"Jonesy's final revenge," Mart breathed, completing his near twin's thoughts. "Jake planned to blow the car to smithereens, and us along with it."

"He came very close to succeeding, too," Jim had to confess. "If Brian hadn't slowed us down back there, who knows what would have happened."

Brian gulped, knowing just how close they'd come to hitting highway speeds. "Remind me about this the next time I complain about your back-seat-driving," he whispered to Trixie.

Overhearing him, the sheriff chuckled and tried to put credit where credit was due. "I think the real thanks should go to this fellow over here," he said, nodding in Dan's direction. "He's the one who found the explosive device under the hood."

Kicking the dirt with the toe of his boot, Dan huffed. He was uncomfortable being in the limelight. "I didn't know what it was," he admitted honestly. "All I did was check the oil."

"You did more than that," Regan reminded his nephew proudly. "You noticed something unusual, and instead of looking the other way, you asked about it. As far as I'm concerned, you deserve a big pat on the back."

The B.W.G.s all agreed and told their friend as much. Only Dan still passed it off as good old Irish luck.

"Let's hope Mike's got a little of that Irish Luck," Sheriff Baker said, making a silent prayer. "Come on, kids. I'll escort you to your vehicles. You might as well get on with your business. This is going to take a bit, and I'm sure Miss Trask is pretty concerned about you. Don't worry. I'll have the station wagon returned once were done."

The Bob-Whites didn't put up a fuss. Everyone knew the law officer wanted the area evacuated before attempting to disarm the explosive device. There was always a chance something would go wrong. Bombs and flammable gas didn't mix.

As Jim and Mart crowed into the backseat of the Belden's station wagon with Trixie, Dan followed his uncle and Tom to the pickup. Nudging Mart closer to the door, Trixie rested her head on the back of the car seat and closed her eyes. The day had taken its toll.

"Tired?" Jim asked, as Brian cranked up the engine and moved the car into gear.

Trixie let out a big yawn and forced herself to sit up. "I think I could sleep for a week," she admitted, wishing she had toothpicks to prop open her eyes. "I hope it doesn't take too long to get things in order at the house tonight."

Jim tapped her on the arm, knowing just how she felt. "We'll be in town another day," he said. "There will be plenty of time for all that. What do you say we stop at the diner once we spring Miss Trask? No one's had a bite to eat since breakfast. We can head to bed early if we don't have to mess with fixing something when we reach the farm. You can even sleep in, in the morning, if you'd like?"

Trixie smiled at him gratefully. "I might just take you up on that," she replied. "That is if we find Mr. Handleman's stamp in the desk tonight. If we don't, tired or not, you can be sure I'll be up at the crack of dawn looking for it."

Honey, who'd been sitting quietly in the front seat listening to the conversation, suddenly had an idea. "Why don't we throw a little party tomorrow night?" she suggested. "Besides Mr. Handleman, we can invite John, Margret Ann, and even Sheriff Baker if he's able to get off duty. Wouldn't that be a super way to reunite Mr. Handleman with his missing postage stamp?"

"Indeed a stupendous idea," Mart agreed, "but isn't that placing the wain afore the Shire, my dear?"

Honey wasn't sure she knew what he meant.

Flipping on the car's turn signal, preparing to enter the hospital's parking lot for the final time, Brian explained, "Mart's afraid you're putting the cart before the horse. And I, for one, tend to agree. I really wouldn't get your hopes up, Honey. Trixie's been wrong before."

Trixie let out a loud harrumph. She wasn't wrong. She felt it in her gut. Brian was being a party pooper. "Well, I think we should have a party whether we find the stamp or not," she said with a sniff. "We'll just make it a farewell party. We've still got all that extra food in the coolers. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Mart grinned and elbowed Trixie in the ribs. "The only 'waste' that food might go to is mine," he said with a smirk. "But a farewell party sounds reasonable, little Sis. Only let's call it a good-riddance party. A final good-riddance to old Jonesy and Jake. I think that's something to celebrate, don't you?"

"Hear, Hear," everyone agreed. And the matter was settled.


It was a little after eight o'clock when the weary group from Sleepy-side finally settled in at the farm. Gathering around the walnut desk in the den, both teens and adults waited on pins and needles as Trixie prepared to test her theory.

Sheriff Baker had straightened up much of the mess left in Jake's wake, but the drawers of the piece of office furniture were still open were they'd been ransacked. Crossing her fingers, Trixie hoped that the letter was intact.

Going straight to that spot where she'd last seen it, the anxious young lady pulled out a stack of assorted papers. Sorting through them, it didn't take her long to find what she was searching for. The un-mailed letter!

"Here it is!" she chirped excitedly. "The 1886 Washington Commemorative postage stamp." Trixie held up the envelope for all to see and noticed the stamp had been attached to the letter with a cellophane hinge, and not by its gum.

In doing this, Honey explained that Jonesy's father had cunningly kept most of the stamp's value intact, and still been able to fool an awful lot of people.

Dan could hardly believe his eyes. "Is that tiny thing really worth 25,000 dollars?" he asked.

"There's only one sure way to find out," Trixie replied. Returning to the desk, she located the magnifying glass she'd been teased with, days before.

"I guess a detective does need one of these," she admitted, raising the heavy magnifier above the envelope. Holding her breath, Trixie carefully counted each minute red line that ran down the face of the stamp.

Jim couldn't contain his smirk. "You look just like your caricature," she told her with a laugh. "So? How many are there? Don't keep us in suspense, Trixie."

Trixie took her time and counted the lines again. "Nine!" she cried triumphantly. "We've found Mr. Handleman's stamp!"

Brain grabbed Honey's hand and swung her around and around until she nearly knocked down Mart, who was bouncing about the room hooting and hollering. In the meantime, Jim and Dan had hoisted Trixie in the air, and she couldn't stop laughing.

"Trixie does it again!" the Bob-White's cheered. "Hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray!"

The B.W.G.'s chaperones were just as happy. Tom and Regan patted each other on the back, and Miss Trask, though in need of her pain medicine and a good night's sleep, kept gushing over how much the stamp's return would mean to Mr. Handleman.

Finally, convincing the boys to set her down, Trixie suggested they put the stamp somewhere safe so that it wouldn't get damaged.

"I've got an idea," Jim told her, dashing to the living room. He returned a moment later with a green lockbox. Emptying the papers inside into the desk, Trixie's friend handed her the fire-proof container. "This should work," he said, relinquishing the key.

"Perfect," Trixie agreed, securing the envelope inside. "And it's small enough that I can keep it under my pillow tonight, too."

Always logical to the end, Brian suggested his sister place the box in the drawer of the nightstand instead, as it would make sleeping much more comfortable, but Trixie wouldn't hear of it. So under her pillow it went, and that night, for the first time all week, she slept like a baby. And while Trixie didn't sleep in, in the morning, when she did get up, she felt refreshed and ready to go. The Bob-White's nightmares were over, and they had a party to plan!


That evening, when Trixie and her friends presented Mr. Handleman with the small armored box, he seemed very perplexed. But when he opened it up and saw his long lost postage stamp nestled inside, he became truly overwhelmed. Tears of gratitude filled his bright blue eyes, and on this particular occasion, he let them flow.

John and Maggie, who'd crowded around for a better look, offered their support. The stamp had gone missing many years before either was born, and the tale of its disappearance had become little more than an urban legend. At yet, here the stamp was, and they beamed at it unbelievingly.

Sheriff Baker's reaction wasn't much different. "Well, gosh-oh-golly," he gasped, not trusting his eyes. "That's not what I think it is, is it?"

Trixie grinned and shook her head up and down. "I overlooked it when I first found it," she admitted modestly. "The stamp's been hidden in Mr. Jones' desk, all this time."

Sheriff Baker let it be known he was quite impressed, and maybe a bit embarrassed, that a girl of fourteen was outshining the men in his department. There was no doubt; Trixie Belden was headed toward a bright future.


Later that night, after their guests had gone home, Trixie sat alone on the front porch, bathing in the moonlight. "It's been a difficult week," she thought, gazing into the darkness. But deep in her heart, she knew it also had been a magical week. One filled with fun, friends, and even baffling mystery. Sure, the work had been grueling at times, and she'd had to learn some pretty tough lessons about trust and putting other's needs first. But in the end, it had all been worth it. Mr. Handleman had his stamp, and Jake Jones would be going to prison for a very long time.

Filling her lungs with the crisp evening air, Trixie let herself relax. The farm seemed peaceful at last.

Coming out of the house, Jim tapped her softly on the shoulder. "We'll be leaving early in the morning," he said quietly. "I'd like to make one final visit to the bluff. Would you walk with me?"

Jim needn't have asked. Trixie would have followed him to the ends of the earth, and she suspected he knew it. But she accepted his offer politely, and together, they set off silently in search of their secret spot.

Nearing the end of the pathway, Jim extinguished their weakening torch. The view from the point was nothing less than awe-inspiring. The pinpoints of light emitting from the scattered farms and villages in the valley below seemed to mirror the twinkling stars in the skies above them. Trixie felt as if she was floating free in the heavens.

"I'll never forget this night," she announced happily.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jim removed a small paper bag. "I hope not," he told her nervously. "I wanted to give this to you when we were alone." Handing the package to Trixie, Jim turned on the fading light so she could see.

Shaking, Trixie unfolded the top of the bag to reveal the object hiding inside.

"My bracelet," she breathed, cupping her treasure safely in both hands. "I was sure it was gone for good. I thought I'd lost it in the maze at the park. I tried pushing it under the mirror so you'd find it, but I didn't think you had?"

"I'm sorry," Jim said softly. "I did find it, and that's how I found you." He paused for a moment, then taking a deep breath, went on, "Trixie, I was so worried about you when you disappeared. And it made me face something I'd been denying." He motioned to the bracelet. "Turn it over," he urged her with a nod.

Trixie's stomach filled with butterflies, but she did as he wished. Now she knew why he'd gone into town that morning. And it wasn't to test drive the B.W.G. station wagon after the sheriff's department returned it. Jim had been to the jewelers. For on the back of the nameplate, Trixie discovered a newly engraved word. And though it was only a single word, it was one which spoke volumes.

"Guilty," it read.

Trixie hoped it was dark enough that Jim couldn't see she was blushing. "Really?" she asked, recalling the morning at home when Bobby had spied on the two in the kitchen.

Jim took the delicate bracelet and hooked it around her wrist. "Really, he said.

And as he bent down, to brush her cheek with a kiss, the only one giggling was the moon.